Summertime Sadness
by slovakia-chan
Summary: "Roderich, we're countries. We have no right to a personal life. Let alone personal happiness." Hungary x Austria.


**Many thanks to Hinotori-hime for proofreading this!**

* * *

They say that when you die, you go back to the moment when you were the happiest and live it forever.

Will I wake up in the golden era of King Matthias's reign? The Siege of Belgrade, maybe? Or the day I received my first Olympic medal?

None of those. None of those compare.

* * *

9:07 pm. This should do it.

I stopped and got out of the car. Not sure why, I locked it.

And then, I just walked.

That summertime sadness again.

* * *

I can't say it was love at first sight, I can't say that the minute I saw his face, I knew it was _him_. That would be a lie.

The day I was shipped to his house, the day I met him for the first time, I didn't feel anything. I couldn't care less. We looked alike - we both had that tiny, shapeless body natural to children. He had the same face as the boys I would steal toys from had, but he was my superior and I did my best to be respectful. Or neutral, at least.

And that was that.

Decades went by. I did my job. He did his. And during all the free time I had, I never stopped my military training. I was determined to become stronger. Faster. Accomplished. And, maybe one day, independent.

Much, much later, I did. But at what cost.

* * *

Centuries went by. I was so concentrated on the floors being spic and span and my axe never missing the dummy that I hardly noticed how much I changed. Nonetheless, it was happening and nothing in the world could stop it.

"Hungary, I know you are having a day off. But _please_ , do me a favour," he implored as he marched into my room one evening. I can't quite remember which year it was. I just know it was in summer. Yes, it must have been it. He was all sweaty when he came to see me. Though it was probably more than just the season.

He was holding a hanger with the red dress I had sewn for the woman who was supposed to be his date. The ball was about to start any minute and he just stood there, his face silently begging me not to ask any questions. I nodded. He put the dress on my bed and left.

I didn't mind making female clothing, but I sure hated wearing it. As if it was not meant for me. And it made perfect sense - I was a soldier. A guardian. A servant to a higher cause. I had no right to be a simple woman. So I pushed her into some abandoned part of me, hiding her so well I myself started to doubt she even existed. Or ever would.

So, yes. I felt ridiculous every time I had a dress on. It just didn't fit. It just... didn't feel right.

Still, being dumped by one's date and having to ask one's maid to fill in was probably even more humiliating.

I put it on and did my hair, avoiding all mirrors on my way to the ballroom. As he saw me walking down the stairs, I couldn't help noticing he froze for a while. _He must think I look like an idiot,_ I thought, but kept my chin up. _You asked for it, boy. No choice - put up with it now._

We danced and ate and drank. Nothing worthwhile seemed to have happened that night. Or at least, to _me_.

And we went on with our lives just like before. Or at least, _I_ did.

"Hungary." He came to see me during my training in the garden one day. "You are such a great fighter. Please, teach me."

My jaw almost dropped. He was standing there, that sullen and uptight piano boy, the one who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, wanting to learn to fight? What for?!

Despite that, I had to admit I was impressed. I always got picked on. However skilled, nobody would take me seriously just because I was a girl. And a man who found it in him to ask me for help... That must have been a true man.

His clumsiness was unbelievable, but little by little, I managed to teach him a thing or two. One time, while fully absorbed in the lesson, our bodies accidentally brushed against each other. And I realized they weren't the same anymore. My chest had turned curvy and plump, while his was flat with broad shoulders. He blushed and, not sure why, so did I, trying to ignore the sweet chill that shot through my core. After that, we went on with the training like nothing had happened.

Before too long, I decided to put an end to our lessons. He was getting rather competent. No wonder - I had taught him everything he knew. But I didn't want to teach him everything _I_ knew. And that could have been an end to _everything_. Except that...

I'm still not sure what took over me. I swear I don't. Maybe... Just maybe... What I wanted was to multiply the chances of his body accidentally brushing against mine again. So I asked him to teach me to play piano. Hilarious, you might think. I thought so, too. Well, he didn't. He was more than eager to accept and took his new task very seriously. Such a shame we barely had one lesson.

What happened? Oh, you know me. Now imagine me behind a piano. I must have been too forceful. Too rough. Until he couldn't take it anymore and grabbed my hand. Our eyes met and I suddenly remained lost for breath.

The next thing I remember was running out of the house.

We went on living under one roof, both as professional as always, never mentioning the incident. Even so, he just wasn't the same anymore. He seemed so weary, always absorbed in some gloomy thought. He would barely touch his food, even the _s_ _achertorte_ he loved so much. Lost of sleep followed; he even started to miss out on his duties. All he did was sit at home and play the piano, his tunes turning sadder every day.

Seeing him like that made my heart ache. He even refused to attend the ball he had taken me to a year earlier. That day, he seemed so miserable that I couldn't take it anymore. I asked him whether there was anything that would cheer him up. He gave me his polite smile. He always had one for everybody, however unhappy he felt. After a while, he realized I was serious.

"The red dress. Do you still have it?" he ventured. I nodded.

"Would you please put it on for me?"

It seemed like a strange wish, but I decided to fulfill it. It didn't cost a thing, after all. As I came back from my room, the red velvet swirling around my body, he smiled again. That time, it came from the heart.

"This might sound unusual, but... would you please sit on the piano?" he asked, cheeks turning pink. Once again, I obliged without asking questions. As soon as I took my place, he started to play a tune - so familiar, yet so different at the same time.

The melody started out floating, gentle, almost unsure of itself, like two lovers sharing their first kiss. It was so hushed I had to concentrate to hear it. Little by little, it picked up pace, growing more and more determined while keeping that touch of delicacy - a kiss deepening, hands wandering over bodies, discovering, pleasing, making the skin tingle.

Before too long, he would hit the keys with more fervour, his music growing rich, energetic, teasing - two cores starting to throb, just like the piano between us. I closed my eyes.

I felt my body vibrate with every note he played, filling me with something sweet. Something that was satisfying me, while, at the same time, making me grow still hungrier. And desperate. I sighed and lay down.

Soon, the song filled the room, echoing against the walls, dramatic, majestic, feverish. My head was spinning and the whole world was spinning along. I became a part of the melody and the melody became a part of me, seeping into my veins, melting with my heartbeat, pooling into me like a warm river. As it filled me, it grew urgent, desperate and overwhelming, and, just like the sensation in my body, it left me trembling and twitching, moaning half-consciously and gasping desperately for air until, at last, I went falling over the edge, dissolving in that blissful completeness.

Once we caught our breaths again, he looked up and gave me the most timid of smiles. I smiled back, eyes half-lidded.

And we both understood.

* * *

9:17 pm.

I went on walking, following the rails.

The handbag felt heavy. I threw it away, not sure why I had taken it with me in the first place.

* * *

He did something I had thought impossible. He found the woman in me.

We spent that night together. It was my first time.

Not having sex. Making love.

* * *

The next day, he gave all of his maids a week off. And that week, we spent in his bedroom. Kissing, tasting, teasing, caressing, loving every bit of each other.

"Can I call you Sisi?" he asked as we lay, skin on skin, dim starlight filling the room.

"Why Sisi?" I wondered.

"It was one of my boss's nicknames. She was your namesake. An exceptional woman. Just like you."

"Alright then."

* * *

I looked out of the window. Our week was reaching its end and I was starting to feel strangely sad. It was one of the last warm summer evenings. The sun was going down, making everything look like I was viewing it through an orange filter. He hugged me from the back, kissing my hair. And I wished with all my heart it could all last forever.

But that deep, desperate melancholy, that summertime sadness, suggested otherwise.

* * *

"What?!" I stared at my boss, unable to hide my consternation. "A revolt? Why would we do such a thing?! We're well taken care of as long as we stick with him."

He just sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Hungary." He leaned in closer, his voice as blank as his face. "That's nothing but a lie. Deep down, you know it. He only wants you from the strategic point of view. You are his maid, remember? You'll always be. Unless you decide otherwise."

I said nothing. He knew me as someone whose axe was always warm and heart covered with dust. How does one explain that now, suddenly, things have turned the other way around?

* * *

A few days later, I overheard Roderich talk to his monarch. _Our_ monarch.

"A riot in Pest?"

"Hungarian uprising, they say."

"What are they asking for?"

"Freedom."

"Freedom from what?"

"Freedom from you. They want independence."

I wished I could just grab his hand and run, far away from everything. Somewhere we could be who we want to be, love who we want to love.

But I couldn't.

* * *

"You know, they want to separate us, Sisi," he breathed in my ear that night.

I knew. Of course I knew.

I had my fears. I had my doubts. Yet at that moment, the look in those deep-blue eyes told me everything I needed to be told.

"Have no fear. I won't let them," I said a bit too loudly, feeling like something within me was catching fire. "If anyone tries to tear us apart, I swear on our love I'll kill them."

A small chuckle escaped his lips.

"My Sisi, always so straight-forward, fierce and determined. My Sisi, who always does all the fighting," he teased. "Is there any way _I_ might make myself useful? Anything _I_ can do?"

"Love me," I pleaded, locking my eyes with his.

"Always."

* * *

"Nonsense. We _are_ equal!"

"Hungary, honestly, you are disappointing me. How many times have we been through this?! Of course you two are _not_ equal. It's time for you to face it. You're being exploited. Is that what you want? Is that what you always fought for?"

"No," I admitted reluctantly.

"Indeed you don't. You can do so much better."

 _Just because I can does not mean I need to,_ a part of me screamed. Even though I was dying to spit those words into his face, I didn't. They got stuck in my throat, never finding their way out.

The seed of doubt was already sown within me.

* * *

Even so, when we lay next to each other, stripped of our clothes, duties and titles, I knew for sure we were equal. When it was just the two of us, all those things just did not seem important. I was his and he was mine. And every time he entered me, it felt like a promise of devotion, his way of telling me he'd always look after me, cherish me, love me with all he had.

We were more than equal - we were one.

So why was it that every time we weren't together, those words came nibbling on my soul again? Bit by bit and despite everything, they made their way to the core. Hurting the most sensitive spot - my pride.

* * *

I secretly hoped the Great War would bring us together. I'd never been so wrong. It only seemed to have pointed out just how different we were.

Soon, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Even when we were together, even while we made love. One night, as we both climaxed and collapsed side by side, it took all I had not to burst into tears. I knew it was my last time.

Not having sex. Making love.

 _I have to do it._

All those battles. All that suffering. All those scars. For what?! Just to see my children wither with every year, gradually lose their true selves, fade into history?

 _I have to do it._ _I know I have to._

I owed it to my people. And they always came first.

 _I have to do it._

Not tomorrow, not in a century. Tonight.

The ancient clock struck midnight; it felt like as wrong a moment as any.

 _Now._

I kissed him one last time, then took my bags and left the house. As soon as the door shut behind me, I heard it swing open again. I turned around. He was standing there, staring at me, lips parted in distress.

"S-sisi," he stuttered. "A-aren't you… Aren't you happy in this house?!"

"Does it matter?" I replied, my voice as blank as my face. "Roderich, we're countries. We have no right to a personal life. Let alone personal happiness."

And that was that.

* * *

Time goes by, but does not heal _all_ wounds.

I grew strong. Successful. I became someone accomplished. And I acted as if it mattered.

Truth be told, however much I tried, however far I got, I've never felt as complete as I did while lying next to him, accepting his everything in exchange for mine.

* * *

Decades passed. And every year, as the summer approached its end and the evenings looked like I was viewing them through an orange filter, I so desperately wished he was there with me. To hold me in that naked embrace, the embrace that did not hide anything; the embrace of honesty, respect and equality. Because when you love, that's all you need.

* * *

We would meet regularly at the World Conference, our contact limited to purely professional handshakes, sometimes meetings. His eyes would always search mine; I would never acknowledge his looks. One time - it was a good year, I was in high spirits - I held his gaze.

Don't blame me. I'm just a woman. I have my needs. And he's the only man I've ever trusted. Ever will.

The last of the meetings had just come to an end. The night was young and the mood was right.

* * *

Stained carpet. Leaking tap. Broken mirror. Creaking bed.

Probably the cheapest hotel in the city.

It all happened so quickly; we didn't even get undressed. My body felt thrown over the edge, but my soul just stood there, staring blankly into the emptiness. It just… didn't feel right. Any of it. At all.

Because how can you drink a cheap cleanskin without shuddering once you've tasted a _premier cru_?

And it was all my fault.

* * *

9:27 pm.

I moved on and on, trying to keep myself balanced on the slippery rails. I discarded the heels; it was much easier without them.

Every time a train passed, I moved away.

Not sure why.

* * *

The worst thing was, I did it again. And again. And a few times after.

How many? I did not keep track.

Too many, that much was clear.

* * *

I called him earlier this evening. Pretended it was for business. He played the game. Then, we both remained silent for a while, choking on all those words that just wouldn't come out.

"Sisi?" he finally broke the silence. I felt my heart fill with something warm. He hadn't called me that in a while.

"Yes?"

"I still love you, you know," he breathed.

I knew. Of course I knew.

At that moment I could almost see him, shy and pink-cheeked, just like the day he played his feelings to me.

"Can we meet up?" I asked.

He must have been reading my mind.

"The next train arrives in Budapest at 9:37 pm."

"I'll be waiting on the platform," I purred, ready to hang up.

"Sisi?" he stopped me.

"Mmmm?"

"The red dress. Do you still have it?" he asked, almost whispering.

"I do. I'll make myself pretty for you."

"See you soon then." I almost heard him smile on the other side of the line. And all I could do was sigh.

I'm so sorry, Roderich. Terribly sorry.

* * *

I brushed my hair, did my makeup, then finally put on the dress. The one I wore for him to the ball all those years ago. The one he slipped off me on our first night. The one I tore a little bit, hurrying to get out of his place before he woke up. The one I put on to seduce him in that shabby hotel again and again, breaking his heart again and again.

It now seemed to be falling apart at the seams, washed out, damaged with all the wrong steps I'd taken while wearing it. And so was our love.

Clothes deteriorate if you're too careless. Sure, you can try to patch them. Once, twice, a dozen times. But not forever. A day comes when you realize they don't meet your needs anymore, that there's no point in keeping them in your closet any longer. That you have to move on, make room for something new, something better.

We need to move on, Roderich. _You_ need to move on. What was between us is dead now. Worn out, washed out, damaged to the core. We can try to get it back, but it won't fit us anymore.

And it's all my fault.

* * *

9:36 pm.

Having followed the rails, I finally reached the station. I stepped onto the platform. People seemed to be giving me suspicious stares; I did not care. I knew I was about to see _him_ again and nothing else mattered.

The sun was sinking down and everything looked like I was viewing it through an orange filter. I couldn't have asked for a better moment.

Please, forgive me, my darling. My beloved. My best friend.

My one and only.

 _...from Vienna West Train Station is now approaching platform number…_

I swore that I would kill anyone who tries to tear us apart. I swore on our love. And that's a promise I cannot take lightly.

And that summertime sadness.

I closed my eyes. A melody echoed in my mind, that melody I could never forget.

Urgent, desperate and overwhelming.

I sighed and lay down.

I'm _so_ sorry, Roderich.

Ever sorry.

* * *

 _At the evening of August 28, commuters at Budapest Main Railway Station were shocked to witness a woman pass away after being struck by an arriving Eurocity train. The deceased was known as Erzsébet Héderváry, occupation unknown, some sources suggesting her connection to the highest diplomatic circles. A coroner ruled the death a suicide. Miss Hedervary's ex-husband present at the inquest declined to speak with media._

* * *

I woke up in his arms, my body vibrating with something delightful. We must have made love a while ago.

"Sisi, everything alright?" he asked, that perfect face of his all concerned. "You look like you've just woken up from a nightmare."

"I have," I managed, hugging him closer.

"Anything I can do?"

I sighed as he cupped my face. His touch was just as I remembered. Delicate. Soothing. Heavenly.

"Love me," I pleaded, locking my eyes with his.

"Always."


End file.
